The Fifth Season Poem by Leslie Philibert
The Fifth Season
Rating: ★5.0
not Spring. Not late but dark.
The hunter`s moon dissolves
as moths take to the woods, as sparks.
As if I could form the night like clay
and wonder at the polar stars in my palm.
The turning wind has failed to stay.
Tress and late snow unblessed with the kiss
of early warmth. Trapped in half light, in
the moor of sacred lands. It is
Sunday, February 10, 2013
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4/24/2024 4:55:59 AM # 1.0.0.1119
the fifth season seems to be different and the mixture of all our emotions! the darkness is compared with clay! beautiful!